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“What’s your deal lately?” Ivy demands, her nails digging slightly into my thigh, jerking my attention to her. Always to her. She wishes I worshipped the ground she walked on, but truth is, I can barely deal with her most days. I keep her around because it pisses my dad off, and pissing him off is my favorite hobby.
“Nothing,” I grunt.
She’s not satisfied by my answer. “I’m pregnant.”
I let out a heavy sigh. Her constant need to throw the most dramatic crap my way is exhausting. “Is that so?” I ask in a bored tone.
A huff escapes her. “Yes. I’ve missed my period.”
Unless she’s carrying Jett’s kid, it’s not mine. I wear rubbers every time without fail. Not to mention, I haven’t been in the mood in weeks. I call bullshit, which is why I whip into the drugstore parking lot without warning. With Ivy, you call her out on her antics. You certainly don’t give into them.
I yank out my wallet from my pocket and flip it open.
“Oh my God,” she hisses. “You’re such a dick.”
Shoving a twenty at her, I shrug. “So?” I nod at the store. “Go get a pregnancy test.”
She storms out of my car and into the building. I lean my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. Moments later, Ivy climbs back in the car and slams the door. The entire drive, she smacks her gum and texts as fast as her skinny fingers can go. Probably tattling to her friend Mindy about her awful boyfriend.
When I change up the routine, she stiffens.
“Why are we going to my house?” Her lip curls up and she glowers at me.
“I’m tired, Ivy. You talk too much. If I take you home with me, I won’t sleep.”
Her mouth gapes open and her cheeks burn red with anger. The sack with her pregnancy test is clutched tight in her grip. “Whatever.”
We pull into her driveway and I shut off the car. She gives me a look of confusion as I follow her into the house. Her house is a simple three-bedroom home on the shitty part of town. Dad hates that I see her because he feels like she’s way beneath me.
Her little brother Ben sits on the front porch carving pictures into the wood with a pocket knife. I actually like the twerp. He’s twelve going on twenty. The kid has a mouth on him like a sailor, but I appreciate his love for art. For twelve, he’s really good. His parents may get pissed that he destroys their property for the sake of art, but one day he’ll be able to do something with those skills.
I climb out and Ivy surges past me, ignoring Ben altogether. I ruffle his messy blond hair along the way. “Nice cat.”
“It’s a tiger,” he grumbles.
“Then give him more teeth.”
I follow her into the house. She’s already thrown her stuff down on the couch and gone to her room. When I walk into her once pink room that’s now covered in black concert posters, she’s pulling off her boots and won’t look at me.
“Bathroom, Ivy. I don’t have all day,” I grumble.
Her gaze is murderous. “If I’m pregnant, it’s yours.”
I shrug and pick up the sack from her bed. She huffs and puffs as I open it and pull the stick out of the package. “Pee on it. Wait a couple of minutes. It’s almost one hundred percent accurate.” When she makes no move to get up, I thrust it in front of her. “Go, Ivy.”
She stands abruptly and shoves past me, yanking the test from my grip. The bathroom door slams behind her. I sit on her bed and glance around her room, searching for the Ivy I once actually cared for. Closing my eyes, I remember our first kiss. The first time we were intimate. All our firsts.
My chest feels empty.
Cold and unfeeling.
I feel bad that I feel nothing, but that’s the extent of it. I’m dragging Ivy along, numbing her along the way. When we first got together, she was lively and smiled. Some would say happy. Somewhere along the way, though, with me, she got pulled into my void. My emptiness has tainted her and if I don’t do something, it might be forever.
The toilet flushes and she washes her hands. I stand, surveying her room once more, before walking over to the bathroom door. I turn the knob and it opens. She’s still frowning, always an excellent pouter, with her arms crossed over her chest. Ivy is gorgeous, but she’s just a little girl in a woman’s body. She hides behind her claws and vicious tongue.
I pull her to me and hug her, waiting for the spark to flare. To remember a time when I was happy with her. Not a flicker. No light. Coldness. I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head, inhaling her familiarity. She won’t relax in my arms like she normally does when I engage in affection. It’s like she knows. Always a perceptive one.
